After Prefect Zhao issued his orders, General Wang, General Zhang, and Registrar Zhang began rallying troops atop the city wall.
Jiaxing City originally had over 2,000 soldiers. After reports of wokou activity within the borders, an additional 500 conscripts were hastily summoned, bringing the total to around 2,500, spread across the four gates and their adjoining wall segments.
The northern gate’s wall section had initially been assigned over 800 troops. Half an hour ago, when a force was spotted approaching, another 600 were redeployed from other sections to bolster the defenses here.
Now, the wall and its base held about 1,500 soldiers—200 guarding the gate below, and 1,300 stationed atop the wall.
Prefect Zhao’s orders had been vague, failing to specify troop allocations for Registrar Zhang, General Wang, and General Zhang.
This sparked a dispute as the three scrambled to muster forces. Each wanted more men—obviously, the more troops under your command in a crisis, the safer you were.
But with only 1,300 soldiers on the wall, every man one took was one less for the others. The trio bickered and vied for numbers.
The revelation that the “reinforcements” were wokou had already thrown the wall into chaos. Now, with the three squabbling over troops, the disorder worsened.
Prefect Zhao, seeing this, stomped in fury and unleashed a tirade. “Have you lost your minds?! At a time like this—when the fighting below rages and the city hangs by a thread—you’re bickering over men?! You’ve utterly disappointed me! Registrar Zhang, take 500 to protect the command center. General Wang, General Zhang—each of you take 400, combine forces for 800 total. The wokou below number just over 400—your combined strength is double theirs. More than enough to crush them!”
Faced with Zhao’s wrath, the three didn’t dare argue. They complied at once, each gathering their assigned numbers.
Registrar Zhang swiftly organized his 500 to encircle Prefect Zhao and the officials, ready to evacuate at the first sign of trouble.
General Wang and General Zhang mustered their troops too, but they dawdled, reluctant to descend and engage the wokou.
Truth be told, they were scared stiff. Bragging was one thing—they knew their own limits all too well.
Boasting? They could outtalk anyone. But real combat? They were green—and terrified.
They’d climbed the ranks to their current posts not through battlefield glory, but through ancestral favor and connections.
They’d never fought a real battle—not once. Their closest brush with combat was an armed parade to accept the surrender of a ragtag band of fewer than 100 bandits.
Even that wasn’t their doing—the bandits had reached out to the authorities to surrender. Their strong hold had been killed in an internal feud sparked by the second-in-command, who then died alongside him, leaving the third-in-command to cash in on the chaos by negotiating a deal with Jiaxing’s officials.
Wang and Zhang had been sent to oversee the surrender—their career highlight.
Actual bloodshed? They’d never seen it.
Now, they didn’t just want to stall—they wanted to bolt.
But they couldn’t. With so many officials watching, deserting in broad daylight would mean Zhao’s wrath and the court’s judgment—neither forgivable.
As they dragged their feet, Prefect Zhao caught on and snapped, “General Wang, General Zhang—what are you dawdling for?! The fighting below is dire—they need support now! If not now, when?!”
His words drew a chorus of agreement from the others.
“Generals, didn’t you just lament that the troops outside weren’t wokou? Now your wish is granted—they *are* wokou! Why aren’t you rushing down to wipe them out and claim your glory?!”
“What, are you scared?!”
“Scared of what? You’ve got twice their numbers—crushing them should be child’s play!”
The officials egged them on with taunts and prodding.
“Prefect, as the saying goes, ‘sharpening the blade doesn’t delay the chop.’ We’re just organizing our ranks before heading down to deal with the wokou,” General Wang replied.
“Scared? Impossible! We’re born of military stock—fear isn’t in our blood!” General Zhang added, both men bluffing boldly despite their quaking insides.
Just then, frantic footsteps echoed up the stairs. Five or six disheveled gate guards stumbled up, armor askew, faces pale with terror as if chased by demons.
“You bastards! Why aren’t you holding the gate against the wokou?! Why’d you run up here?!” Prefect Zhao roared.
“Prefect, the gate’s lost! Our brothers are—” Before they could finish, a pack of ferocious wokou surged up behind them, swinging blades that cleaved through the guards like butter.
Blood sprayed, heads rolled!
The guards’ severed heads tumbled toward Zhao and the officials like grisly balls…
*Mother of—!*
“Aaah! Murder!”
The pampered officials shrieked like frightened women, souls scattering at the bloody sight.
Prefect Zhao’s face drained of color, speechless, regretting his choice to come to the wall with every fiber of his being.
“Hahaha! Nice work—the gate’s ours! We’ve butchered every guard below. Now it’s your turn—don’t worry, we’ll send you off quick!” a wokou sneered, licking blood from his lips as he eyed Zhao and the others.
Before his words faded, more wokou poured up the stairs like sprouting bamboo, glaring at the officials with wolfish hunger.
“Protect us! Protect us!”
“General Wang, General Zhang—the wokou are here! Wipe them out now!”
The officials screamed in panic, scrambling to hide behind Zhao.
“Guard the Prefect! Generals, hold them off—I’ll get the Prefect and the others to safety!” Registrar Zhang shouted, directing his troops to shield Zhao’s group while yelling at Wang and Zhang.
The two generals cursed inwardly. *Why don’t YOU hold them off while WE escape?!*
But they had no choice. Registrar Zhang was tasked with protecting the Prefect—leaving them stuck facing the onslaught.
